This was how the land had kept itself strong for millions of years. Only the strong survived to breed.

We are survivors, she thought, glancing at Sam, watching his gaze drink in all he had been shut away from for so long. Sam survived and I have survived, survived to love him, survived nearly losing him. Scarlett had found strength and Nancy kept it even during her captivity in World War II, and her family was facing this drought too with fortitude, laughter and with love.

Jed turned into the Dribble driveway, then drew up under the carport. She waited for Sam’s first words at home.

‘Shed needs repainting,’ he said, opening the door and beginning to shuffle out.

She felt like giggling, crying, cheering, because of course those were the perfect words for Sam’s return. Instead she said, ‘Don’t you dare try painting yet,’ as she hauled his walker out for him.

He flashed her a grin and grabbed it as the kitchen door opened. ‘Daddy! Daddy ’ome!’ A small, avocado-covered projectile sped towards him. He just had time to brace himself before she hit him at knee height. A dog with suspiciously green jowls — Maxi loved avocado too — followed more slowly, as befitted her age and guardian status, while Blue and Joseph stood in the doorway, not even pretending not to cry.

There were wombat droppings on the doorstep. Was that Batbat’s welcome, or a way of saying ‘just remember this is my place too’?

Sam was home.

He slept most of that afternoon, two long naps interrupted by thudding prowls about the house with his walker, and then, more slowly, the garden, inspecting his property, making sure the drippers were still working on the fruit trees, the chook shed still fox proof, the solar panels washed free of dust.

The first time he woke Maxi brought him gifts: her toy lion, the bit of rope she loved to gnaw on and, finally, her greatest treasure, a half-chewed pig’s ear, dropped on the bed next to him with a wide dog grin as if to say, ‘All this is yours.’

Maxi was a dog who gave everything she loved to those she loved. She loved Sam McAlpine. She loved Jed more, and Mattie even more than that. And Mattie’s dad was home.

Jed was conscious of Sam beside her all the night, even as she slept. She had thought she would not sleep for joy, and yet she slept more deeply than she had since his accident. No, since the last months of her pregnancy.

The bed was empty next to her when she woke, the sun high above the house. For a moment every muscle clenched, and then relaxed. If Sam had . . . died . . . he would still be there. And his walker would be by the bed, which it was not . . .